The Third Side to Every Coin
by LoliBat
Summary: It was curious, how people never thought that the sole child of James Potter, Transfiguration and Wards master, and Lily Potter, Charms and Runes master, would be talented. Seventeen year old Harry Potter held within his hands, a single grey pawn. It was exquisite, he thought, and leaned forward to observe the chess match unfold with great interest. Dark, sly and believable Harry.


The Third Side to Every Coin

 **I.**

It was interesting how pawns are both the weakest and the strongest pieces in chess. Pawns are limited in their movement and easily disposed of, but left alone and unchecked, their potential is unrivaled. Their weakness is a subterfuge for the true nature of pawns- they are dangerous. And indeed, one single pawn can declare victory over an adversity, if given the opportunity to grow.

Seventeen year old Harry Potter held within his hands, a single grey pawn. Meticulously carved out of granite, the piece was smooth and cold in his hands. He spun the pawn around in his hands. It was exquisite, he thought. Gently, he placed it on a tea table in front of him, next to the chessboard situation there. Harry leaned forward to observe the chess match unfold with great interest.

Naturally, the chess board was magical, but the pieces are not. He could not bear to be constantly harassed by those obnoxious pieces, so he merely swapped them for muggle ones. The board however, is the important element. Harry had charmed the board several years ago to be self-updating. Alas, he was somewhat late in charming the board, as it had started many years ago. Exactly seventeen years ago.

It was curious, how people never thought that the sole child of James Potter, Transfigurations and Wards master, and Lily Potter, Charms and Runes master, would be talented.

At age five, Harry discovered that he was a partial metamorph. While he couldn't change his entire body like Tonks could, he could change his hair, his muscle tone, his height, and so much more. Was it not curious that he never gained muscle tone from Quidditch conditioning? Or that he never gained an ounce of fat despite all the food that the house elves served to him at Hogwarts? Heartless or not, the Dursleys knew better than to abuse a Magical. That did not mean that they were nice though. Little Harry, at the tender age of five, learned the value of appearances. It is after all, so very easy to charm adults with his bright, verdant doe-like eyes, his short stature, his pale porcelain skin, his slightly malnourished appearance. A mere child- a poor dear, they thought, and fell into his traps like the willing victims they are.

At age seven, Harry Potter discovered his borderline obsession of books. Since Dumbledore never visited him, he wouldn't know, but Harry's favorite pass time was reading. In particular, he loved reading about history and strategy- about Napoleon's defeat, about George Washington's triumph, about Artemis Fowl's adventures. Even Petunia and Vernon never knew. Oh he knew better than to bring his beloved tomes "home". Harry would spend hours upon hours in the library, devouring book after book. No one cared where he went- not that they noticed- he was free to roam the little town of Surrey. Thus, Harry Potter grew up to be a bright child, swathed in tales of illusion and deceit.

At age nine, Harry Potter began to dream. One lazy summer day, Harry was rifling through books in the library as usual when he chanced upon a book from the fantasy section misplaced in the science section. "A Muggleborn's Guide to the Magical World", by Wilson Orvinn, was the title. Curious, Harry picked up the book and opened the cover. Harry's world promptly turned upside down. From then on, Harry began to spend a large amount of time dreaming- dreaming of what he could do with the power of magic, with the knowledge held in forgotten lexicons, with the new world that he never knew. He spent hours upon hours planning and researching into all things magic- surely, even in the twisted version of magic found in muggle tales, there _must_ be a hidden grain of truth.

At age eleven, with a crumpled letter clutched in his hands, Harry Potter visited Diagon Alley for the first time. He had been suitably awed by the magical shops that carried various concoctions and items, but he needed information first and foremost. His first visit to Gringotts was most productive, he thought. He had left under the guise of finding a bucket for Hagrid- the poor man was quite the interesting shade of pale green- and instead found Griphook, the account manager of the Potter Vaults. Whispers were traded, and books and galleons were discretely exchanged. It helped that he had stolen his vault key from Hagrid's pocket while patting the half giant on the back. Soon, he would return to Gringotts as heir to the Potter and Black vaults. No one would steal his heritage from him ever again. Not even Dumbledore. He did find that bucket, in the end- much to Hagrid's relief.

His second visit to Diagon Alley was considerably more productive than his first. An inheritance test was conducted by the goblins, and the results floored him. It was the one and only time he had ever been so utterly surprised. Apparently, not only was he the heirs to the Potter and Black vaults, he was the heir to the Slytherin vault as well, along with several other minor ones. Lily Potter was descended from Salazar Slytherin's oldest son, while the other Slytherin heir, Tom Riddle, was descended from the younger son. Rightfully, Harry Potter is the Heir of Slytherin, heir to the the darkest lord since Morgana's time. It was a big legacy to live up to, but his first order of business would be to snatch back his rightful place from the imposter that dares call himself "Heir of Slytherin."

At age eleven and a half, Harry Potter learned his role in life. When he went to Hogwarts, Harry downplayed his abilities and became a mediocre student; he knew better than to flaunt his abilities in an unfamiliar environment. The flashy ones are always the first to go. Through veiled lashes and half-broken classes, he observed his classmates and categorized them based on use. While his "friends" embarked on a search to discover the contents behind the door in the third floor corridor, Harry was busy contemplating. Oh he knew what the ultimate prize was; it was no coincidence that Dumbledore asked Hagrid to fetch a mysterious package the same day Harry was "introduced" to the magical world. Why bother with a security leak as this when he could simply visit it another day? Better yet, why leave the "precious package" with a half-giant whose ability to magic is marginal at best?

It was also no coincidence that Quirrell, a teacher well versed in emergency procedures, incited mass panic by choosing the worst way possible to announce the presence of a troll to hundreds of school children. It really didn't help that his eyes were way too sharp for a mere teacher. For all his stutter, the eyes are the windows to the soul. That sharpness, that focused and undivided attention has no place with a blubbering fool. Sometime after rescuing his "friend" and the timely arrival of the gaggle of teachers, Harry realized that he was meant to be a pawn in this neverending game. An important pawn, but a pawn nonetheless. So a pawn he would be.

But as people are oft to forget, the pawn alone has the most potential in a game of chess, because unlike the other pieces, _pawns can change_. So he'll play their game- he'll be the pawn that he was born to be- and he'll ride through the plans they have for him. The changes and potential he has- he'll keep for his own.

Harry had observed everything and deduced several important conclusions. Day in and day out, Harry would watch and wait while hiding under the pretense of a slightly dull eleven year old. Both of his opponents were fixated on each other and no one else. Who would pay attention to a lowly pawn? And so, Harry began to plot and plan. He occupied a most precarious position in the match; he was a pawn that both sides wanted to win, a pawn that guards the way to victory, a pawn that both side wished to delude. Unknowing to them, this pawn would be their undoing. Harry decided that the best way to proceed would be to play both sides off of each other, waiting for opportune moments. No one said that he had to play by the rules, and the third side of every coin is always the best side.

The end of his eleventh year came faster than he had anticipated. Harry boarded the Hogwarts Express with Hedwig while the Philosopher's Stone weighed down his pocket. It had taken his "friends" months to discover that it was _the_ Philosopher's Stone that resided behind the third floor corridor. It had taken Harry all of thirty minutes to extract, hide, and replicate the stone and even less to kill Quirell. As planned, Voldemort revealed himself and even attempted to convince him to join the dark side. Silly him. As if Harry would ever bow to any master- let alone an imposter hiding behind the Slytherin name.

An extensive study of his curse scar, one of his numerous pet projects throughout the year, revealed that the scar was in fact the remnant of a powerful Light protection charm laid down by his mother. The shape of the scar was in fact a rune (and not the "lightning bolt" that the masses crow over)- it was sowilo, the rune for Victory. And victory, it would bring. This obscure charm mixed both Runes and Charms together to create a powerful fire spell that would activate when the person in question is in danger of darkness. Harry paused- he could use this to his advantage. And he did. Quirrell was nothing more than a pile of ashes, and Voldemort escaped capture once more. Harry knew that he had precious little time to spare before Dumbledore would appear to presumably save the day. He replicated the stone in his pocket with a perfect gemino charm, shattered the replica, shrunk the original to the size of a coin, and slipped it into his money pouch with none the wiser.

He had hobbled over to the remnants of Quirrell's turban and curiously turned it over. Runes crisscrossed the bits of fabric, much to his fascination. For a while, Harry observed every aspect of the turban that wasn't burnt or illegible before piecing it back to its original state. He knew that he couldn't speed memorize every rune on the turban, but that was what pensives are for. Then he promptly collapsed beside the Mirror of Erised in mock exhaustion- just in time to hear Dumbledore blowing apart the door at the hinges.

The stone was most interesting, he discovered, but it would be useless to him. He was young, and he already had innumerable amounts of wealth at his fingertips. No, the stone will go back to its rightful owners, the Flamels. The elderly couple was pleasantly surprised when Harry showed up at their door with the precious stone. Dumbledore had almost begged to be borrowed the stone at the beginning of the year, and the Flamels were most displeased to be told that it had been shattered beyond repair. They had been prepared to cut ties with Dumbledore and write their final will at Gringotts. Thus, Harry's timing was perfect. The Flamels had even offered to adopt Harry out of gratitude, but Harry gracefully declined: he had appearances to keep up. They owed him a life debt, and rightfully so, for their supply of Elixir of Life was running dangerously short. Thus, Harry the Pawn exchanged the Philosopher's Stone for a pair of trusty rooks. Powerful when used correctly, and often forgotten.

And that, concludes Harry's first year of magic. It was productive, he thought. As he lay in his rickety old bed in Dudley's second bedroom, he began planning for his second year.

* * *

Mandy: Just a short little story from my files- I wrote this this in 2012, I think? I literally just titled this "the third" I completely forgot that it existed, to be honest. I do have plans to continue this at some point, but it will have to wait until I'm done with exams. I kind of forgot what I wanted to do with this story, but luckily, I have another idea that I can combine with it. I rather like Dark Harry fics, so I thought to write my own; this chapter is rather short, but it's the content that matters anyways, not the word count. I'm thinking maybe 8 chapters for this one? One per year and one epilogue? Idk. No promises on finishing stories though. Hopefully this will tide my readers over for a bit until exams are over. I swear, I'm working on my main fics, and I have all these ideas in my head, but I really have no time to write.

As always, this story is dedicated to my three favorite (active) fanfic authors: esama (esamastation), cywscross, and blackkkat- you guys rock, and I check your stories/sites every day like the daily newspaper (I'm a lurker like that). Regular readers: go check out their stuff if you haven't- you won't be disappointed (though tbh I don't think there's anyone on FF doesn't know who they are)

Also, side note: I hate writing summaries for stories- I have no idea what to say.


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